


Burnished

by songlin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 666 Fics, M/M, Shedding Kink, Snakes, scales - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 07:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19719196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songlin/pseuds/songlin
Summary: It doesn't happen often. Maybe once a decade or two, Crowley's scales need a good molt. And as they are in areas he can't easily reach, it is easier with a certain amount of assistance.





	Burnished

**Author's Note:**

> There was another 666 challenge, this one with the general prompt of "snakes." Instead of going for something reasonable, like giving Crowley two dicks, I decided to see if I could make molting sexy.
> 
> I really wanted to give Crowley a wide band of ventral scales over his stomach, like a corset, but couldn't figure out how to choreograph removing it within the word count. I also considered making Crowley considerably more monstrous, but thought maybe that's taking it into realms much more exclusive to the more dedicated monsterfuckers.

It doesn't happen often. Maybe once a decade or two, Crowley's scales need a good molt.

Crowley had noticed it a few weeks ago. It started as a vague sense of itching, of tingling down his back and legs where his scales are. It grew and grew until it was inescapable. At all times he was hyper-aware of the dryness and the tension, even when his scales were hidden. He started taking baths, hydrating, doing anything to speed up the shed. Finally, it began to peel away at the corners, and he knew it was time.

"Relax," Aziraphale says. His hands are soft and cool on Crowley's twitching skin.

Crowley is lying on his stomach on his bed, fully nude, next to the warm, damp towels that Aziraphale has just removed from his back and shoulders. Aziraphale, kneeling beside him, lightly runs his fingers over the dull, flaky scales down Crowley's back, and Crowley shudders. As Crowley's scales are in areas he can't easily reach, he requires a certain amount of assistance.

The scales run down Crowley's back, with a peak at the base of his neck and a few tendrils curling over his shoulders like cap sleeves. They are the color of unpolished onyx with unpredictable bursts of red jasper. When the molt is over and done with, they will gleam. The pattern ducks in around his wings and flares out beneath them, nipping in at his waist. It swoops around his hips to the front, then runs over his buttocks and thighs before tapering to a point just above the backs of his knees.

Aziraphale has picked at the skin at Crowley's shoulders so that it will be a simple matter to pinch the ends and pull, hopefully in one smooth, clean piece. Crowley is humming in anticipation.

"Do it," he bites out.

Aziraphale gently tugs at the loose skin and begins to pull.

Crowley makes a weak sound and arches into the motion. Every inch of dead skin peeled away exposes his new, raw skin to the air. It comes away easily in Aziraphale's fingers, gently crinkling as he pulls and pulls.

The shed lifts away from Crowley's shoulders and upper back, tugging gently at his fresh scales underneath in a way that makes him jerk and pant for breath. His hips twitch against the bed beneath him. It comes off easily between his wings, below them, and down his lower back, but catches where it comes around his pelvis and outlines his hips. Crowley hisses.

"Sorry, sorry," Aziraphale says. "Here, let me."

With both hands, he reaches around, between the mattress and Crowley's body. The skin at the tips of the scale pattern has come away enough for Aziraphale to catch hold and peel it back. Crowley lets out a long, extended groan at the touch of the satin sheets on his new skin.

"Just a little more," Aziraphale says. Does he sound strange?

Crowley has almost no warning. Aziraphale takes the ends of the shed in his fingers and pulls away in one fluid movement, stripping it off Crowley's arse and thighs all at once. Crowley cries out, trembling.

"Look at you," Aziraphale says in a hushed tone. He runs his palms up the full length of the scales, from thighs to arse to back to shoulders. They are shining like polished glass, emphasizing the contours of his figure. "What a gorgeous creature you are."

Crowley gasps as his whole body shudders under the touch. After weeks of dulled sensitivity, the direct contact is like grabbing hold of a live wire.

"My dear," Aziraphale says, now definitely sounding strangled. "Would you object if I were to…?"

Crowley speaks for the first time since they began all this. "Yes," he says heatedly. "Yes, yes, yes."

Aziraphale swings his leg over Crowley's legs. He straddles his thighs, and presses his mouth to the top of the scales at the base of his neck, and Crowley speaks again, a prayer of "yes, yes, yes."

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise! You're all scalies now.


End file.
